Strange Saturday
by HerenyaHope
Summary: A bizarre situation involving mysterious Asian ladies, magic desserts, and body switching force the Holmes brothers to see each other through their eyes, and become closer than ever. Needless to say, shenanigans ensue. Takes place pre-Reichenbach. Rated T for language and future sexual themes.
1. Squabbling Siblings

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**** Please be kind as this is my first Sherlock fic!**

**Not much to say, I got this idea a while ago and started this out as a drabble, but now I've cleaned it up and can't wait to see where this is going.**

**Anywho on with the story!**

**Chapter One: Sibling Squabbles**

"I'm leaving."

"Sherlock, wait."

"Why on earth would I do that?"

Mycroft pinched his brow and took in steady breaths.

"Sherlock, for once in your life pretend you are a reasonable human being and listen to what I have to say!" he whispered harshly. The younger Holmes rolled his eyes and sat back down in the booth. The two brothers glared at each other from across the table of the Chinese restaurant. The table had been unoccupied when Sherlock sat down, but as soon as he saw Mycroft return from the restroom he made for the door.

"I thought I was meeting Lestrade to discuss the Turner case," he said.

"You thought wrong," Mycroft smirked, relishing any chance to say his brother was wrong.

"Hacking my phone to make the text look like Lestrade's? Bit much don't you think?"

"I knew you wouldn't come if I asked, and I didn't need to hack your phone I just used Gregory's."

"How did you get his phone?"

"That's not important."

Sherlock groaned and banged his head against the back of his seat in frustration.

"For god's sake Mycroft get to the point! What do you want?"

"Always so impatient brother," the elder Holmes tutted. Sherlock was about to snap back when a pretty young waitress approached the table with a tray.

"Here you go," she said, grabbing a steaming plate from the tray and placing it in front of Mycroft.

"Thank you," he said as he tucked a napkin into his shirt collar.

"You want to order?" she asked Sherlock.

"No," he replied.

"Enjoy. Need anything you call," she said then she went to other tables.

"Shanghai," Sherlock said.

"What?"

"Her accent is Chinese, Shanghai to be specific, but it's faded considerably so she immigrated here at a young age, and though the last name on her nametag is Thai, suggesting that she is married, she is actually only engaged since she only has an engagement ring and not a wedding band, not to mention the ring looks hardly tarnished."

"Sherlock don't deduce the staff," Mycroft sighed like one would to a child misbehaving, which in his case was an accurate description.

"Are you sure you don't want anything? The shrimp is superb," Mycroft said as he gathered up food with his chopsticks.

"Are you sure you should be eating that, Mycroft? Surely it will ruin your imaginary diet."

Mycroft paused just as he was about to take a bite.

"My diet isn't 'imaginary', and has been going well if you're curious. Therefore, it is no harm if I wish to treat myself once in a while."

"Then twice in a while, then thrice in a while, then soon we'll be sewing an elastic band into your trousers again-"

"Sherlock," Mycroft warned through gritted teeth. He was resisting the urge to start a row with Sherlock in public, and Sherlock was enjoying pushing Mycroft's buttons.

"Why can't you just be civil?" asked Mycroft.

"I am being civil. I haven't even mentioned that you've yet to lose any weight since last time we met."

"Yes because that's so tactful,"

"Was that sarcasm?"

"Since when do you know what that is?"

"John said that I should learn to recognize it, though I don't see why, and it seems the only good it does is that I now know when I'm being insulted."

"Why would anybody insult you? You are so pleasant."

"More sarcasm?"

"Yes."

"Ah two for two, John will be proud."

Mycroft rolled his eyes as he swallowed his rice.

"We're not here to test your social skills, brother."

"Right, your stupidity distracted me. Tell me what you want so that I can leave."

Mycroft chose to ignore this comment and instead reached into the bag beside him and pulled out a seal manila envelope.

"I think you will find this interesting," he said as he slid the envelope to Sherlock.

"There's been an incident involving a French national and-"

"No."

Mycroft's smile faltered for a moment but he quickly recovered.

"I know what you must be thinking but I assure you this is actually something you'd find-"

"You couldn't possibly know what I'm thinking so don't try and act like you can, and no."

Now all pretence of niceties had left the elder Holmes.

"Sherlock, you haven't had a case in three weeks, you want a case, and I am offering you a case why won't you take the bloody case?"

"Please Mycroft this is just you wanting me to do your dirty work cleaning up some foreign scandal for some anonymous client; all three are situations you know I dislike intensely."

"This is nothing more than an incident that has been brought to my attention, and after reviewing it I thought it was something you would enjoy. That it happens to benefit me is just a happy coincidence."

Sherlock snorted. "Please, when have you ever done anything out of charity?"

Mycroft sighed. "Whatever happened to the little brother who would drag me outside to help him collect insects and plants?"

"I was a child, I didn't know any better."

"Childhood is a time for folly, Sher-"

"Maybe for lesser minds like you but for me I had to start training my mind early."

"Sherlo-"

"Now if you'll-"

"Stop interrupting me!" Mycroft slammed his fist on the table making the silverware clink.

"I try to do you a favour and give you a case, and this is the thanks I get?"

"I never asked you to do anything."

"That's what brothers do Sherlock."

"Oh? I suppose brothers place security cameras in their flats and don't let them piss without it being on record?"

"Well maybe if you'd stop keeping me out of your life I wouldn't have to!"

"Stop being such a drama queen Mycroft, sentiment is a bad colour on you."

"That's enough!" Mycroft stood up so fast he knocked his chair over. His face was red and he looked absolutely fuming. The brothers had attracted the eyes of the other patrons, but Mycroft didn't care anymore.

"You are an insensitive, rotten person Sherlock," he growled.

"And you're a pushy manipulator who has to have his giant nose stuck in everyone's business," Sherlock said back.

"Why can't you just be normal for one second?"

"Why can't you get a life of your own to butt into?"

"Why you little-"

"Everything fine?"

The Holmes looked to see who said that. An elderly Asian woman stood by their table looking at the two brothers. While everyone else in the room looked nervously at the two angry men, the little old lady looked at them cheerfully as if nothing was wrong. She wore a name tag but since she didn't wear the red dresses worn by the waitresses, one could assume she was the manager.

"Fine, it was good," Mycroft said, trying to collect himself.

"Fortune cookie?" The brothers looked and saw the lady had a plate with two fortune cookies on them. They weren't the average cookies you got at a takeaway place; they were larger and perfectly curled.

"I don't want your bloody cookie!" Sherlock snapped.

"Sherlock!"

"Oh shut it Mycroft!"

The two continued to argue but were interrupted by smacks to the backs of their head. Shocked, the two stared at the old woman who still had her hand raised.

"Now you two listen," she started, slight irritation in her voice. "You two brothers, I can tell. You two family, and family no disrespect each other like this!"

Sherlock looked like he wanted to come back with a snarky reply, but a look from the Asian lady shushed him.

"You two need to learn to love each other."

"I've had enough of this." Sherlock glared at Mycroft one more time before storming out of the restaurant. The elder Holmes groaned and rubbed his temple, already feeling a headache beginning to form.

"My apologies ma'am," he said to the woman. The elderly lady gave him a look of sympathy and patted his shoulder.

"You need to learn to understand him, like he must you."

Mycroft snorted.

"Understanding him is impossible."

The owner smiled in a way Mycroft didn't understand, like she was in on some sort of joke. She held out the plate again.

"Cookie." What was once a question was now much more a command. Mycroft would have declined but he felt the scene he and Sherlock caused obligated him to accept.

"Thank you," he said as he took the fortune cookie. He noticed that the other cookie was not on the tray, but he thought nothing of it.

The car ride home was silent, as usual. Mycroft's assistant was not present, but even if she had been she would have her eyes glued to her phone. The elder Holmes entered his home and trudged to his room, throwing his coat and bag as he went. He went to his room and stripped to his pants throwing the other clothes in the general direction of the hamper. Normally he would be appalled by such unorganized abandon, something he'd expect of Sherlock, but his ordeal with his brother drained him and he really had no energy for such things. As he walked to his bed he was startled by a crunch beneath his feet. He looked down and saw he'd stepped on his trousers, then he remembered the fortune cookie he'd put in there.

"Great," he mumbled as he turned the pocket inside out to rid it of the crushed cookie. He may have been tired, but there was no way he was leaving that mess there to attract bugs. While digging out the cookie bits he pulled out the paper message once encased in it. He knew that the fortunes were just vague nonsense, but he still found himself curious, especially after how adamant the old lady was to give it to him. He dusted off the crumbs and flattened out the strip of paper. He furrowed his brow at the words he read. It wasn't the usual short vague saying in most fortune cookies, and was more like a poem. He read it aloud trying to make sense of it.

"A journey now starts, its destination reflected in another. A switch in temples, for the understanding of each other. You must gain the knowledge you need, for it you seem to lack. Only through a bond not only through blood shall you go back."

As the last words left his lips he felt a startling chill race up his spine and spread to the rest of his body. He fell back wondering if he was having a heart attack. As quickly as it came it left, leaving Mycroft dazed.

"Bloody hell?" he gasped, afraid to move again for fear the feeling would return. But it didn't and Mycroft chose to ignore it, blaming it on stress. He climbed in his bed and turned off the lights, falling into a dreamless sleep.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**** Houston, the fic has lift-off!**

**Once again not much to say, I think that this fic has some potential and I really want to make this a thing!**

** Feel free to ask questions, make suggestions, and all that good jazz.**

**Favs and follows are love! 3**


	2. Startling Situation

**Shoutouts to tigersoul101, Rubi Yuki, andFlightstrike**

**Chapter Two: Startling Situation**

* * *

Mycroft woke up, and right away he knew something was wrong. First off, he woke up on his own and not by the shrill beeping of his alarm clock. Immediately he thought he had slept in and was late. He quickly sat up and tried to jump out of bed, but found his movements restricted by the cocoon of a blanket around him.

That was his second clue.

The sheets he was in were cheap and scratchy. Well, to a normal person they were fine, but they were definitely not the elder Holmes's high-end silk sheets. After untwisting himself from the sheets he finally got a good look at his room, or so he thought.

"This isn't my roo-" He quickly clamped a hand over his mouth at the sound of his words. His voice was completely off, it was deeper and gravellier, and sounded very familiar…

"No." He stood up and found he was tripping over himself. He felt wrong, his limbs were heavier and he felt like he'd been stretched like taffy. His head felt heavier, and when he brushed his hand over his head his hair felt thicker and much longer than what it should have been.

He looked around and found that while this wasn't his room, it was a room he knew. An utterly asinine idea suddenly struck him, and he felt fear begin to creep up his body.

"Can't be," he whispered, again with that voice that wasn't his. He slowly approached the mirror hanging on the wall opposite of the bed. His legs wobbled like a new-born giraffe's, further supporting his crazy theory. He was almost afraid to look, but he had to know.

He had a hard time believing what he saw in the mirror.

He was staring at the horrified face of Sherlock Holmes.

"No, no, no," he chanted, watching Sherlock's face mimic him.

Mycroft gulped, his not-reflection copying, and slowly lifted a hand. His shaking limb touched the glass, Sherlock's reflection connecting with his fingers.

But it wasn't Sherlock's reflection, it was his. Mycroft looked like Sherlock. Mycroft _was_ Sherlock.

"Fuck," he whispered. He sunk to the ground, still wearing the look of shocked horror. He had a hard time coordinating his new gangly limbs, but eventually he was sitting there awkwardly with his long arms wrapped around his equally long legs, his chin resting on his knees.

A sudden dinging noise almost gave him a heart attack. He yelped, a sound that sounded strange with Sherlock's voice, and whipped his head back and forth trying to find the cause of the sound.

It came from Sherlock's rarely used laptop sitting atop his desk. Mycroft(or was it Sherlock?) slowly walked over and peered at the screen. It was an invite to a video chat, something Mycroft did not expect to see on his brother's computer. Even more startling was the email address of the person sending the invite. An address he knew all too well. As he clicked 'accept' he was half expecting what happened next, half hoping it wasn't true. But sure enough he found himself staring into the computer at his own face, and he did not looked pleased. He wetted his suddenly parched throat and in a scared voice so unlike Mycroft (or was it Sherlock? This still hasn't been settled) spoke the one word that would test the theory he was begging to every deity he knew was wrong.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock (Mycroft) rolled his eyes and scoffed. "Yes it's me brother, now get rid of that look on your face you're making me look stupid." The voice was Mycroft's but the biting words and condescending tone were all too Sherlock.

The elder Holmes' fear and panic melted away to pure anger and he glared at the poorly pixelated image of himself.

"Sherlock," his voice oozed pure death. "What the hell have you done?"

"What have I done?!"

"I'm in your bloody body Sherlock!" Mycroft screamed.

"Keep it down; you'll wake John," Sherlock warned.

"Just tell me what you did," he commanded, his voice now a whisper but still just as deadly.

"Me? You're the one with all the government connections, perhaps I should be asking you."

"Sherlock I did not do this," Mycroft hissed.

"Well neither did I!"

"Oh what is happening?" Mycroft groaned, pulling at his longer thicker hair which was perfect for such action.

"Stop that, I don't want to go bald."

"Sherlock what the fuck is going on?"

"I thought that was obvious. Somehow we have swapped bodies with one another. It appears only our physical bodies have been exchanged, as I find I haven't gained any new knowledge you would know but I don't, not that there would be a whole a lot of things to learn."

"How are you so calm?! Surely you who thrive off of logic and reason should be short-circuiting right now"

"Because while this situation is indeed upsetting, albeit fascinating, oh think of the data that could be gathered..."

"Sherlock…" Mycroft fumed.

"Very well, the point is nothing will be gained by panicking and being irrational. Now think, what is the last thing you remember?"

Mycroft took deep breaths, trying to calm himself down, and tried to think of anything that could explain this.

"Well, after you stormed out of the restaurant, I returned home and went to bed. Then I woke up here."

"Come on, surely there is something else that happened?"

"There's nothing Sherlock! I got home exhausted, but of course before I could sleep I had to spend ten minutes cleaning that mess after I stepped on that-"

Mycroft gasped, his eyes wide as dinner plate when realization hit him like a bus.

"What Mycroft?" Sherlock asked.

"The cookie!" Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"The fortune cookie the old lady offered us," he explained. "I took it and left it in my pocket and stepped on it when I was changing. While cleaning it up I read it. It was all that frivolous nonsense they usually have, but as soon as I read I felt something like a cold shock up my spine. I thought I was having a coronary." Mycroft searched his brother's (his) face for any reaction, but Sherlock remained passive, but focused.

"I wrote it off as nothing and went to bed," the elder Holmes followed.

"I see," Was Sherlock's response.

"'I see?' Why do you not sound surprised?" asked Mycroft.

"Because the exact same thing happened to myself."

Now it was Mycroft's turn to raise an eyebrow.

"Check the bin beside my bed," Sherlock told him. Mycroft wanted to know why, but Sherlock's expression was very clear he just wanted Mycroft to do it. He found the trash bin and peered inside, careful not to touch anything, a neat freak even in another body. Nothing caught his eye, a few paper wads, old nicotine patch wrappers and a couple tissues, but nestled on top was what he had the feeling Sherlock wanted him to find. A small strip of paper. He plucked it from the bin and read the words typed on it.

"Th-this is-" he rushed back to the computer and held the paper in front of the screen. "Sherlock this says the exact same thing mine did!"

"I've also confirmed this,' Sherlock replied as he held up the identical strip read by Mycroft the other night.

"But wait, how did you get the fortune cookie? I didn't see you take one when you left."

"I didn't. I took a cab home and once inside I discovered it in my pocket."

"Why on earth would you want to read a fortune cookie?"

Sherlock shrugged. "Honestly I just felt like it to see how ridiculous it was. After reading I had an experience similar to yours, and I woke to find myself not in my own body."

"Are we really considering a fortune cookie fortune as the cause of this?" Mycroft asked.

"I do admit it is rather foolish."

"Foolish? FOOLISH?!" Mycroft jumped to his feet, his cheeks growing red with anger.

"This is the worst thing that could happen! My god, of all the people why did it have to be you?"

"Oh yes because this is just a day at the morgue for me too!" Sherlock screamed back.

"Sherlock are you alright?" Both brothers froze, eyes focused on the door.

"Sherlock?" John called again.

"I'm uh," Mycroft cleared his throat, panic rising. "What do I do?" he whispered to Sherlock.

"Answer you idiot!"

"Sherlock what's going on?" John's footsteps grew louder as he approach the room.

"N-nothing!" Mycroft answered quickly. He then realized how un-Sherlock that sounded and cleared his throat trying to come up with something more Sherlockian.

"I'm fine, John." he said trying to keep his voice level. He still felt so out of place with his brother's voice coming out of his mouth.

"I thought I heard you talking to somebody." John answered. His voice was right behind the door and Mycroft could see the shadow of his feet peeping under the wooden door.

"Well you heard wrong," he replied, trying to make sure he sounded like Sherlock. He knew very well that John was a smart man, especially when it came to Sherlock, and knew he had to be very careful.

John made a grunting noise, like he didn't believe him.

"John, stop standing in front of my door unless you have no better use of your time," Mycroft said, perfectly mimicking the haughty dismissive tone so often directed at him over the years.

He could hear the doctor sigh. "Lestrade told us to meet him at the crime scene in half an hour, so get washed and dressed already."

Mycroft heard John's footsteps retreat, and let out a sigh of relief. He turned back to the computer screen and saw Sherlock staring at him critically.

"Don't be rude to John."

"Oh? I thought I was supposed to be you," Mycroft smirked. Quickly the smile fell, when something dawned on him.

"Sherlock what are we going to do? I can't stay in your room forever and you can't stay in mine."

"I don't know about you, not that I'd care if I did, but I am not going out wearing your mug."

"Sherlock I'm serious. You just heard John, you have a case, and I have work."

"So you have any idea how to switch us back?"

"Of course not!"

"So what do you propose we do then?"

"We'll figure out what's happened to us and how to reverse it. In the meantime we are just going to have to have a go at impersonating each other."

Sherlock snickered to himself.

"What's so funny?" Mycroft asked accusingly.

"The thought of somebody like you attempting to be like me?"

"Excuse me?"

"Unfortunately brother, there's only one Sherlock Holmes and you're looking at him."

"Actually I believe I'm looking at Mycroft Holmes right now and may I say how handsome I am right now."

"So sorry to tell you this, but the role of Sherlock is a far too advanced for you," said Sherlock.

"So you think being me is going to be easy?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Please how hard is it to sit behind a fancy desk and order people around?"

Mycroft couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Sherlock do you know what kind of responsibilities I have? The kind of things I have to deal with on a daily basis-"

"Oh calm down Mycroft you're not that powerful I only say that to threaten people."

"So you think you can be me better than me?"

"Seeing as how I am superior to you in most ways and have deduced your habits and behaviours for years, I see no challenge in playing the role of you."

"Then let's have us a wager shall we?" Sherlock cocked his head.

"Until we figure out how to reverse this, we shall masquerade as each other and see who really has it tougher."

"Mycroft I told you I see no challenge in this-"

"Well if you are so confident you should have no problem then, do you?"

Sherlock opened his mouth to argue, but when he realized Mycroft was right he pursed his lips.

"Very well, as much as I dislike it, I see no other alternative."

"Very well," Mycroft said. He stood up and began rifling through Sherlock's closet to find something to wear. He was almost found this new challenge exciting, seeing if he could pull of being his brother. But just when he allowed himself to see some bright side to this he remembered something very, very bad.

Sherlock was going to be him. That meant he had to take over Mycroft's position, handle his cases and deal with sensitive information and interact with some of the most powerful people in the world.

Bloody. Fucking. Hell.

"S-Sherlock!" he quickly returned to the computer screen and was relieved when Sherlock was still there.

"What now?"

"We need to set some ground rules."

"Oh?"

"Yes, we are to do our best to act like each other, the real us. That means no using our current positions to embarrass each other, and we need to react how the other would."

"Mycroft I know this."

"Still, let's make a simple list of the things we think the other should know." So they spent about ten minutes making lists of things they needed to know: words they should never say, how they would answer certain questions, certain code words and phrases, names of people and such. They had to stop when they heard John yelling for "Sherlock" to get going.

"Well, let the games begin." Mycroft smirked at Sherlock, and while his lips didn't move there was now a competitive glint in his frost coloured eyes.

"I'd say good luck, but such niceties are frivolous."

"Indeed." As Mycroft closed the laptop screen he thought he heard Sherlock say he heard someone come in, but paid it no mind as he gathered himself and joined John in the living room.

"What took you so long?" John asked as the two walked down the stairs and out of the flat.

"I had difficulty locating my shoes," Mycroft lied, using Sherlock's bored tone.

"I keep telling you to tidy your room, the place is a pit," John scolded half-heartedly. Mycroft rolled his eyes the way he remembered Sherlock did when Mummy asked his to clean as a child. John waved for a cab and when one stopped for them the two slid in. John gave the cabbie the address and they were on their way.

"Where are we going?" Mycroft asked.

"They found a girl by the Thames," John answered.

The two fell into a comfortable silence and Mycroft was trying to resist chuckling. This was going to be easy. He had experience in investigations and he was confident that he would win he and his brother's wager. He was wondering what Sherlock was doing and this train of thought reminded him of Sherlock's comment before closing the computer. He wondered who would be visiting him at this hour…

"Fuck!"

"Sherlock what's wrong?" John jumped at his "flatmate's" sudden outburst.

"I forgot to mention him!"


End file.
